


Jealousy

by hellostarlight20



Series: Shall We Dance [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Shagging, Smutty goodness, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Yes you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy--resentment against a rival; that clawing, gnawing feeling one gets when the love of your lives blissfully flirts with another as if you’re not standing right there. OR: How the Doctor tried to pretend he wasn’t insanely jealous of each and every time Rose Tyler smiled at anyone else. PLUS: NSFW telepathic smutty goodness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the rating change--though if you've been following the series, you knew this was inevitable!

Rose sat perfectly still. They sat in—what did the Doctor call it? The Zero Room. Something about dampening outside influences. Rose shifted, flexing her fingers over her crossed legs, trying her best to remain patient and calm.

The Doctor’s cool fingers barely touched her temples but she felt his presence clear through her. As if a piece of him settled within her.

No that wasn’t how she’d describe it.

A piece of him didn’t settle within her, it—it merged or join with something in her. With her heart or her soul. Both. Like a piece of her was missing and with him there, cradling her, Rose finally felt complete.

“Concentrate, Rose.” His gruff voice washed over her even as it startled her back to the matter at hand.

“I can feel you,” she said before she thought about her words.

Her eyes flew open and she met his. Rose licked her lips and wondered why she said that. Truth or not, she hadn’t meant to admit as much. They walked uneven ground, a balance beam, between forward and backward.

Between more and what was.

The Doctor watched her for a long, silent minute; his blue eyes like fire, searing her soul. Rose didn’t understand that look, couldn’t decipher it, but it tugged her closer, drew her inexorably to him.

Then he nodded, eyes softening. “Good. What do you feel?”

Rose didn’t look away but let his question simmer. She wanted to answer it correctly; it felt important she do so. Unfortunately, she couldn’t be sure. There was so much…

“You,” she repeated slowly. “It’s like you-you’re—I can feel a part of you when you touch me. Not just your fingers on my temples,” she clarified, frustrated. “But like you’re hovering just out of reach. If I concentrate hard enough I’ll be able to—”

She shook her head, but didn’t dislodge the Doctor’s fingers. The silken feel of his rough touch on her skin. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Touch me.”

Rose frowned and reached up to wrap her own fingers around his wrists. “Like this?”

“No.” His smiled, soft and gentle.

Despite the humor lighting his blue eyes, he didn’t laugh at her. Stunned, Rose realized it wasn’t humor lighting his eyes—it was happiness. It was a lightness she’d only seen less than a handful of times before today. It was _Everybody lives_ and _Rose I remember how to dance_. It was walking hand-in-hand through the cherry blossoms in Kyoto and _You came back for me_ after she woke from piloting the TARDIS and joining with Her Heart.

It was finally understanding that she’d always return for him. No matter what.

It was love. Or as close as the Doctor ever—or might ever—come to describing it, voicing it. And it filled her with such emotion, such love and affection and warm joy at simply being with him that Rose didn’t know how to describe that overwhelming, _overflowing_ , feeling of rightness.

She didn’t know how to speak, her words clogged in her throat, choked her with the perfect rightness of this moment.

“I meant,” he whispered, voice enticing despite the seriousness of the moment, “that if you concentrate hard enough, you’ll be able to touch me.”

Embarrassed, Rose dropped her hands. Had he felt her own love? Had he known? He must already—she was rubbish at hiding it, after all. Ever since she realized he felt her emotions via hand-holding, Rose did her best _not_ to advertise her love for him.

She figured she mostly failed at that.

But she did admit to becoming surprisingly good at blocking off that love whenever they held hands. Still, for a man who had to be used to communicating via skin-on-skin contact, he wore layers for a reason after all, the Doctor had to know how she felt about him. All she felt for him.

Then she realized what he meant.

“Oh!” She nodded just slightly. His fingers against her skin, light though they were, felt divine and she didn’t want to move them. “Yes. Or—or speak with you, I don’t know. It’s so close, but no matter what I do, I can’t…I can’t finish the connection.”

“Do you want to?” he asked, voice low and intimate. Had he moved closer? Had she?

“Finish the connection?” Rose asked, breathless. And annoyed with her complete lack of understanding here. And complete lack of coherent sentences.

Kissing was a form of communication, right?

The Doctor paused again, eyes still boring into hers. “Yes.”

More than anything.

Normally it took all her concentration to hide her feelings for the Doctor, to put as many barriers around those thoughts and feelings as possible. Yes, they grew intimately closer since she absorbed the Vortex, but despite that—the kisses and caresses and the way he held her, tighter, longer, definitely more lover-like than friend-like—Rose didn’t know.

“Yes.” Had she said that? Was that breathless whisper hers? Well, she didn’t think it came from the Doctor, but thought she should probably be embarrassed over how she sounded.

Rose did not feel the least embarrassed. Aroused? Oh yes. Not embarrassed.

The Doctor’s eyes darkened. His fingertips caressed her temples, down her cheeks, along her neck. As if he memorized the feel of her skin or the contours of her body. Oh, how she wanted that.

“Why?”

He dropped his hands. Rose blinked. What just happened? Bereft, lost, torn between leaning closer and _feeling_ again, and scooting away, she stilled. Maybe she should’ve kept her makeshift barriers high around those feelings, but she thought—well hoped maybe with all her heart—that he wanted that, too.

“Why what?” she asked more to stall for time than anything.

The Doctor merely watched her. Oh sure, now, when she really wanted his adorable rambling on the topic of the moment, he remained still and silent. Perfect.

His hands rested on his knees and Rose physically restrained herself from reaching out and twining their fingers together. Where they belonged. Not so much for this new, deeper connection (not all of the reason at least) but because she needed to simply hold his hand. Instead, she pressed her hands to the TARDIS floor beneath her and tried to order her thoughts.

The TARDIS hummed, that warm song of light and love and sound enveloped her, and Rose relaxed. Well then. This was what she wanted, yeah? Yes. Oh, yes.

“Why do I want that deeper connection?” Rose looked up from her lap and met the Doctor’s eyes. She wasn’t going to let him back out. If she needed to be open and honest, he needed to hear it.

“I want to feel you,” Rose said softly, clearly, speaking from her heart. It belonged to him, anyway. “I don’t need to read your thoughts all the time to know what you’re thinking, I already know. I don’t want to pry or invade your privacy; I don’t care about any of that.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to—protest? object? Tell her she’d never be able to read his thoughts, mere human that she was? What?—but she shook her head and he relented.

Slowly, she reached out and took his hand. “That? That spark or connection or whatever it is you want to call it. That. I want that.”

Oh God, oh God…the words didn’t stop and she knew before she even continued she was going to spill everything. Her heart raced and her common sense tried to keep up with her words, her mouth, but her heart was firmly in control. It just all spilled over.

“I love you, Doctor,” she heard herself say. “Have done for a while. You’re so—you’re so important to me. Not only because you’re my best mate, not because you show me the universe, the stars and planets and wonders I never knew even existed.”

His hand tightened around hers and Rose didn’t know if he wanted to pull away and run or listen to her. To all she apparently had to say, because her mouth kept moving!

“I love you because of who you are. You care,” she insisted and tightened her fingers around his. He didn’t try to pull back but she knew him oh so well. “You care about everyone, the things you can change and what you can’t. You care about people and their futures and doing what’s right. And you care about me.”

Oh God that was it. She opened herself to him and poured everything out and now—and now he didn’t feel the same. Rose swallowed, hollowed out and empty and bereft.

And damn if her mouth didn’t _still keep speaking_!

“You try to atone for the Time War, but I know, _I know_ , you were like this before, helping and caring and doing what was right. It’s not your fault,” she insisted and dropped his hand.

Her voice sounded rough to her own ears, thick with tears and stupidity and why was she still talking? At least they no longer touched and he couldn’t feel the desperate love pounding in her heart and warming her soul.

“What happened wasn’t your fault. You did the only thing you could do to stop it all,” Rose insisted and impatiently wiped the useless tears from her cheeks.

She scrambled to her knees and pressed her lips to his cheek. That spot she loved between his mouth and his mole. Then she stumbled and clambered upright, backed away. Out of here, away from him and the confession bleeding on the floor between them.

“I—any connection,” she managed and backed away. Rose shook her head, words now completely lost between her brain and her mouth. She hit the door, elbow stinging from impact.

“When?”

The Doctor stood before her, large and looming and when had he moved? Rose tilted her head to watch him and raced through a hundred answers to his vague question.

When did he want her to leave?  
When should he drop her off in London?  
When did she think she decided she loved him?  
When had she decided she was the Doctor’s universal absolver?

Was that even a word?

“When?” Rose repeated and felt every inch the stupid ape he once insisted she was.

“When were you going to tell me? When were you going to say the words? When did you know?”

Maybe this Zero Room blocked more than outside influences, maybe it blocked her brain from making coherent connections, too.

“What?”

The Doctor straightened and watched her. Waited for her answer. Oh. Ohhh! Rose swallowed and tried to smile. It came out a slight curve of her lips at best. She reached for his hands and clasped both of them in hers.

Warmth flooded her veins and eased the constriction around her heart. Rose didn’t think that was her own imagination.

“I don’t know. Cardiff, maybe,” she admitted and watched the recognition in his gaze. The same recognition when she admitted to feeling their connection, this spark of _more_ between them. “Maybe not like this.”

This all-consuming need to know and watch and understand and be with her Doctor. To listen to him rant about TARDIS repairs or watch him carefully mend her broken arm, his long fingers so gentle on painful limb. To laugh with him as they danced or to—

Everything. Rose wanted everything with this amazing man.

“I was jealous of the way Charlies Dickens looked at you,” the Doctor admitted. “You in that dress.”

Rose stilled, her fingers tighter around his now. Or were his tighter around hers? “I was jealous when the Prime Minister of Corraloux wanted to dance with you right after you said you didn’t dance.”

He didn’t smile as she expected, didn’t laugh it off. “I was jealous when you danced with Jack. And when you called Mickey to meet us in Cardiff.”

She called Mickey because of the harsh things he said to her after their first kiss. When he’d taken her to the gala on Braxiq and she kissed him and he pulled back. Jerked back, more like, all Time Lord affront.

“Doctor,” she admitted in a rush of nerves and courage and she didn’t even know what. “I’m jealous of every man or woman you flirt with. Each and every one. Any being who sees you in that incredible tux—I want them all to know you’re with me. You’re mine.”

His hands cupped her face and Rose forgot how to breathe. Or why it was necessary. What was this thing called oxygen?

“I’m jealous of everyone you smile at,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m jealous of that Helionan photographer looked at you or that man we shared a balcony seat with on Menilos. I’m jealous when you laugh with Jack and how you looked at Simenon on Goropous Three.”

Who?

“I only want you,” she admitted, or thought she did. Did she say those words aloud? Did it matter?

Because then the Doctor’s lips touched hers and what did words or thoughts matter?

His large, rough hands cupped her face and she sighed at the feel, the beautiful touch of his skin against hers. It sparked and glowed along her nerves and settled deep in her. In her soul where it bloomed and warmed and opened to him.

Rose stood on tiptoes and pressed her body to his; she wanted to feel every bit of his skin, of him against her. Wanted to know his body, the dip and curve of muscle, the smoothness of his chest—what else did he hide beneath his layers?

“I want to find out,” she said as if they’d discussed her thoughts.

“I want the same,” he whispered against her lips as if he understood. “I want to know what makes you scream and how you look when you come.”

Rose’s breath hitched. “I want to see you,” she breathed, amazed her mind still worked. Or were they still in the telepathic bubble? She didn’t care. “I want to watch you—I want to watch you as _I_ make _you_ come.”

The Doctor growled. Rose shuddered at the sound, may have whimpered, definitely clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer. Was there a close enough?

“There never is,” he said against her mouth. “I’ll never be close enough to you. Even when I’m moving inside you, it’ll never be enough, Rose.”

This telepathy thing had definitive advantages.

Easing her mind open, the newness of being able to connect with the Doctor, Rose carefully sent her love and need for him over their bond. And by carefully she meant she bombarded him with it. Well, it was only her second day actually using her telepathy. She needed practice.

“Rose.” His voice was strangled, full of love and the hardness of control, and the harsh sound sent lightning along her veins, moisture pooling low within her.

Practice? Or not. Who needed practice with a response like that?

The Doctor’s hands slipped down her back, over her thin jumper, up under the material along sensitive skin. One hand curved over her bum, pulling her close—closer. Molding her body against his. How had she survived this long without his touch?

Thankfully, she never need ask that question again.

He tugged the jumper over her head and the only complaint Rose had about now being bare to his touch was that they needed to stop kissing. Seriously, she could kiss him forever.

His wool jumper scratched her skin, and when her bra followed the mysterious path of her jumper, the wool felt erotically decadent against already hard nipples. Rose hissed in arousal, scratched her nails down his back and clawed for the hem of his own jumper, desperate to shed it and bare him to her. Felt his hardness pressed to her inner thigh and rocked against him once more.

“Doctor,” she moaned against his mouth.

This was no slow build. This was weeks, months, a year’s worth of need tearing at the boundaries they setup to break free. This was need and now and not soon enough.

She pulled back and opened her eyes to watch him, tossing his jumper far, far away from them as she did so. Rose studied his beloved face, the mole she loved before she realized how far down the spiraling path of desire and love she’d already fallen.

One finger traced his brow, down his cheek to his chin. Along his strong nose. Over his lips, now moist from hers. He sucked her finger into his mouth, and his blazing blue gaze never left hers.

She suddenly wondered if it was skin-on-skin touch that allowed them their telepathy or if this—him swirling his tongue over her finger—counted. Didn’t matter. Because Rose felt him, not the physical presence of him but deeper. Seated in her soul and cradling her in his.

The Doctor released her finger, one hand cupping the back of her head again, the other twining with her hand. His kiss was hard, possessive and greedy. He took and took and Rose offered everything to him.

Opened herself up fully to their telepathic bond, consequences be damned, and let him see just how deeply she loved him, how desperately she wanted him.

Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss. Eyes more black now than blue, but still so focused on her and brimming with all the things he couldn’t say.

It shimmered there, pressing against the link they established through holding hands over the months they traveled together. They hovered there, palpable though Rose instinctively knew he wouldn’t ever say them.

Words held power.

Those three words held more power than anything in the universe. Nations rose and fell on those words; entire galaxies born and died on them. She smiled against his mouth, lips just pressing to his.

“How long are you going to stay with me?”

“Forever, Doctor” she whispered. “I’ll never leave you.”

Then yelped in surprise when the Doctor lifted her in his arms and pressed her against the wall. His mouth crushed hers, sharp and demanding, and his hands jerked her thighs up, around his waist. Stronger than she expected, Rose took a moment to settle herself against him, hips cradling his.

She wanted to tell him to fuck her; wanted to feel his sinewy body push her against the wall and fill her until she screamed his name. Multiple times.

Hey, she heard it was possible for a woman to have multiple orgasms. Now was her chance to find out.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, voice like pure sin, washing over her skin in the barest of wicked brushes. “You want me to fuck you, Rose Tyler?”

She shuddered at his profanity and barely nodded, tried to form words but gave up with his mouth back on hers.

 _“Yes,”_ she thought and pushed that to the forefront of her mind. _“Yes, Doctor.”_

He growled again, his calloused hands moving from her thighs to her bare back. He pulled her against him and stepped from the wall, trailing the fingertips of one hand up her belly, across her ribs, to her breast. His fingers teased her already aching nipple. Tugged harder, until she cried out, curving her entire body into his touch.

Rose moaned. “Doctor. Just like that. Yes, Doctor,” she gasped, his name a litany, the only word that mattered. 

He slid one hand between her legs, rubbed the rough cotton of her jeans against her. She shuddered, hips grinding against his hand, nails digging into his pale flesh.

“Rose.” He ground out the word against her throat and she shuddered again.

Was it possible to come by his voice alone? Probably not or she would’ve already. Numerous times.

“Numerous times?” he asked, voice a breath against her hypersensitive skin.

“Telepathy is going to take some getting used to,” Rose moaned. Her hips moved frantically against his hand, but what she really wanted was his cock inside her.

“As you wish.”

Rose didn’t know they moved. Well, she did, felt the cool wall against her back replaced with the cold, hard floor. Felt the Doctor kneel between her legs and tug her jeans off, kicking his to the side as well.

She struggled onto her elbows and watched him. “I can spend lifetimes watching you,” she said, the words slipping from her lips. She lazily toyed with her nipple, but her fingers didn’t feel the same as his, and she longed for his touch. “Another lifetime tasting you.”

The Doctor made a noise between a growl and a moan, and suddenly he knelt before her. Rose licked her lips, eyeing his cock. She reached out to touch him, to feel his hardness beneath her fingertip.

“Later,” he promised.

He took himself in hand and eased into her. Her body stretched around him, eager to accommodate, desperate even. Rose slid her fingers down between her legs, even as she arched her hips. Spreading herself wide, eyes never leaving his, she watched him enter her.

He took his time with that; he didn’t want to hurt her and Rose felt his concern as surely as she knew how he felt for her. Even if he never said it. Did words matter when she felt his all-encompassing love?

And then he was fully seated in her.

“Yes,” she moaned.

The Doctor leaned over her, hands fisted by her head, just touching her temples. Rose shivered at the faint contact and wrapped her legs around his hips. They didn’t speak, they only touched. As much as possible, as much of their skin could meet, did.

And then he moved. And Rose cried out, her orgasm a flashfire through her veins. Still he moved, _he fucked her_ , and she loved it. Him. Held onto the Doctor’s shoulders, skin-to-skin, minds merging in a way she didn’t know was possible.

No longer did she lie on the hard TARDIS floor but on a purple-blue cloud, surrounded by the Doctor. The blue and silver swirls buffeting them caressed her body, held her aloft, kept her close to her lover.

She cried out again, the small piece of her mind still sane (how was that part not lust-fogged, too? It should be! She’d work on that) cheered the fact she really _could_ have multiple orgasms.

“I’ll show you multiple orgasms, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor whispered.

Or thought to her. It jolted through her, his voice, his presence, wrapped around her in those silver-blue swirls of love and need and—and it was so much, so very much, she cried out at the fullness. Rose wrapped her body around his and wondered if the glowing golden light merging with the blue-silver felt the same to him as he felt to her.

And he did. Even as he slammed into her, she felt another orgasm building. Her fingers pressed hard to her clit, rubbed frantic circles over the sensitive nerves. When it broke over her, she curled her body into him, crying incoherently, teeth sinking into his shoulder with the force of her climax.

Still the Doctor moved, thrust harder and impossibly faster and then she felt him—actually felt his climax vibrate through him. Rose held him tight, clinging to him, body still pressed to his, and oh—oh did it ease into her. Fill her. Surrounded her and bound her to him in ways she only vaguely realized. Understood.

“I love you, Doctor,” Rose whispered. “I love you.”

_“Rose Tyler.”_

He held her to his chest and rolled onto his back. Legs tangled together, head on his chest, she listened to his double heartbeat, hand splayed between them. Rose kissed that spot, her spot she decided, and hummed in understanding.

Her Doctor might never say the words, and Rose knew that. Understood that. But she heard them every time he said her name. And they warmed her just the same.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, eyes closing. “So very much.”


End file.
